Buttons
by Oracle Obscured
Summary: Snape's wardrobe inspires Hermione's imagination.


A/N: This story contains graphic sexual situations. You have been warned.

* * *

Hermione exited the bathroom and stopped in the doorway to the sitting room to watch Snape read by the crackling fire. He was sprawled across the Chippendale sofa, his long legs spanning the length of the seat. Warm firelight blazed and fluttered over his sallow skin, and while his hair had enough shine to reflect the guttering glow, his black frock coat and trousers absorbed the light, blotting it out like an eclipse, so only his face danced with artificial life.

He lifted a pale hand and absently licked one finger before turning the translucent page in his moldering book. Her nipples tightened behind her satin negligee, and she smiled and leaned on the door frame, patiently waiting for the next page turn so she could see that tongue wet his finger once more. She so rarely got to witness it in action, as it was usually scavenging through her most hidden recesses, which made it difficult to see. Even with a mirror. She glanced at their bed. Even with two mirrors . . . and the most perverse Pensieve in creation.

Hermione brushed one finger over her right nipple, and her depths thrummed in response. Severus appeared completely absorbed in his book. Her fondling went unnoticed. Years of teaching had inured him against all forms of distraction. He could read in the Great Hall with kids screeching and utensils scraping against plates. The racket made Hermione want to tear off her ears, but Severus tuned it out effortlessly.

His focus was breathtaking. Especially when it was directed at her.

His tongue crept out again, the pad of his index finger touching the tip. He smoothly flicked the page over and continued to read. Hermione's smile broadened. Their eleventh anniversary was in one month, and she had quite a night of "celebration" planned. She was counting down the days like a kid at Christmas. Eleven years. The traditional gift for eleven years was steel. Steel indeed. She hoped he'd be able to walk once she was through with him.

Whenever someone asked what the secret to their marriage was, Hermione always just smiled and said something sweet, like compromise. But she knew the real answer.

Buttons.

Rows and rows of glorious buttons.

Her eyes traveled down his chest, tracing each round button with a pang of longing. Back when she'd been his student, that frock coat had been synonymous with intimidation. Now it was the subject of her most knicker-flooding fantasies.

How many times had she undressed him, taking her time, slipping each worn button through its stiff hole only to reveal the bright white of his dress shirt beneath—lined with another shiny row of buttons? And then there were his delicious sleeves. When it was time to play Deviant Head Girl and the Depraved Disciplinarian, he'd lecture her as he slowly unbuttoned each arm with pointed deliberation. She'd be soaked before he even put her over his knee. Her clit responded to each deft caress as if his fingers were gliding through her sodden folds rather than rasping over each black button. Tease.

And his trousers—my God. The first time she'd unbuttoned his fly, she thought she was going to hyperventilate. She hadn't even known that anyone still wore such things. How cumbersome. Zips were so much more simple . . . and easier to manipulate in the throes of passion. But she soon learned that getting him hard and watching those buttons struggle to contain the thick column of his sex was one of life's great pleasures. Pulling open each button to free his cock was orgasmic. As each one popped open, her pussy would jolt with sweet anticipation. It was like opening a present every time they fucked. _You got me something? How thoughtful. I wonder what it is? Button. Button. Button. Gasp! It's your dick. Just what I wanted. How did you know?_

All those buttons took time. And Severus loved taking his time. He liked precision and concentration; and watching her get increasingly desperate with each delayed undressing played right into his devious machinations.

It was time for some of her own devious machinations.

Hermione tiptoed to his side, careful to stay on the rugs so her bare feet didn't touch the frigid flagstone floor. Even when she was standing right next to him, he didn't look up. She knew he was aware of her presence, but reading was sacrosanct in their quarters. They never interrupted the other in the middle of a good book.

Not without good reason.

Hermione brushed her fingers over her shoulders one at a time, tipping the thin straps of her nightie so they fell around her arms. With a serpentine undulation of her torso, the slinky satin slid down and pooled at her sides, baring her breasts. She pulled her arms free and lifted her hands to her chest. The rounded flesh was warm in her cupped palms. Her nipples peaked in the open air, and she grazed one budding tip with the side of her thumb just to feel that juicy jolt between her legs again.

His eyes slid to the side and caught sight of her. One black brow quirked in interest.

Smiling sweetly, Hermione circled her hips so her gown lost its grip. A soft susurration of satin slipped to the floor. That got his full attention. The lines on his face smoothed as his brow lifted in delighted surprise. There was her Slytherin sensualist.

Without looking at his book, he slid the worn red ribbon between the pages to mark his place. His eyes never left her body as he blindly deposited his book on the end table behind him. Hermione skimmed her hands over her body, drawing his eye to her hips and, ultimately, her chestnut jungle.

His grunt was rough with hunger, and his long fingers shot to his throat to loosen his collar. Hermione stayed his hand. Those were her buttons.

Snaking her leg over his body, she straddled his hips, pressing her pussy to his perking placket. That was hers too. She leaned down and touched her mouth to his. Her tongue danced over his lips, and he immediately opened up, inviting her to come in for a taste. Mmmmmmm, chocolate pudding. That night's dessert. It was even more exquisite when mixed with the warm flavor of his mouth.

They sank lower, the sofa cradling them like a chintz lover. Hermione settled against him, and his arms closed around her in a woolen cocoon. The rough fabric made her squirm. It always left her looking as if she'd been exfoliated by an overzealous esthetician. If she wasn't raw by the time they went to bed, she hadn't played with him properly.

Leaving his lips, she kissed her way over to his ear, where she nosed his lank hair out of her way and licked his lobe. He grunted and grabbed her bum. That speed bump in his trousers was growing larger by the minute. She might try for a moving violation later, but for the time being, she intended to get where she was going the old-fashioned way.

Like 1850's old-fashioned. Those Victorians must have been pantheons of perversity. Why else would they have created such a sexy piece of outerwear?

Placing one hand on his chest, Hermione held him flat as she sat up. His breathing was already ragged; that gorgeous nose was getting quite a workout. She smiled down at him and shifted forward so she was straddling his waist, and his expression flickered with amused confusion. Usually she'd be tearing at his clothes by that point, desperate to get his silky skin against her abraded flesh.

But that would spoil all her plans.

Dropping her chin, she gave him a sly look and held his gaze as she scooted higher. She put one foot on the floor and nestled her other knee in the crotch of his armpit. His lips tugged into a wobbly smile of curiosity.

Shifting forward, she braced her hands on the arm of the sofa, bracketing either side of his head. Her hips circled, and her wet slit mashed itself into his ribs. Her labia pulled open, and the worn canvas of one coat button found her clit—button to button. Slowly, she began to rock, smearing her growing lust over his coat, measuring the distance between buttons with the precision of her pussy. A soft sound of pleasure escaped her throat and bounced against her lips. She curled her hips forward and rode over three button bumps.

Frock coat frottage was even better than she had expected. Her inner thighs were probably going to be grated like Parmesan cheese, but time had eroded the buttons to a smooth patina. There was just enough friction to make things interesting.

Hermione sank back as if she were riding his cock, and each button licked her from entrance to nub. Bump. Bump. Bump. Button. Button. Button.

Opening her eyes, she found Severus staring up at her, his gaze lit like a black bonfire. He grazed her right nipple with one finger then traced the circumference of her areola. Her nipple sensed his presence and hardened to a sharp point, which he pinched between forefinger and thumb as if testing her ripeness. The resulting ache bolted through her body and settled in her clit like a jittery tremor. She moaned and rode him faster. Forward and back. Button button button.

His lip curled in a sexy sneer, his crooked lower teeth showing as he hissed sharply. Hermione didn't want teeth. She wanted tongue to accompany her button buffing.

Her right hand left the bracing strength of the sofa's arm to alight on his lips, and she followed the crease of his mouth with the tip of her index finger. Gods, just the sight of his twitching lips got her juices flowing. The hint of a smile played over his face. His nostrils flared. He was loving it. His cock would be hard as cobalt when she popped open that placket. He pinched her other nipple hard, spurring her fevered ride from a canter to a gallop. Hermione whimpered and ground her cunt into his coat. She was perched on the edge of release, balancing between the delectable brush of his buttons and the burn of her wool-worn inner thighs.

Pushing her finger into his mouth, she sought out the wet heat of his tongue. His eyes locked on hers, and he grabbed her wrist, trapping her in place. His tongue furled around her finger, swirling and lapping the digit, sucking hard as he guided her in and out of his mouth at the most lascivious pace imaginable. She added another finger and shuddered as he slipped between the two to lick at the sensitive webbing. His tongue flickered in that fork like a salacious serpent smelling its surroundings. She bucked faster, keening as the pleasure packed itself into a tight ball of frisson.

They never broke eye contact. She knew that dark look of desire was responsible for the skip in her heart. His penetrating stare always left her stomach twisting and her pussy throbbing. Other people might call it glaring, but she called it foreplay. She knew what it meant when he looked at her like that. He was going to fuck her through the floor.

Yay.

Her core tightened. She was there. Her jaw dropped, and she moaned his name as she rode out her release atop his stiff frock coat, which would henceforth be known as his fuck coat. He sucked her fingers deep into his mouth as she came, and his writhing tongue slithered along their length, almost licking her palm. Her pussy contracted in time with each blessed button, jumping and thumping over each hump.

She panted as she floated down from her high. Her pelvis slowed to a stop, and she grinned at him with a sated sigh. Pulling her fingers from his mouth, she leaned down and pressed her lips to his. He growled and threaded his fingers through her hair, drawing her closer.

Sinking back, she felt the thick ridge of his erection between her legs. His hips curled up to press his concealed cock into the hollow of her spread thighs. Hermione welcomed him in, humming in pleasure as he rocked against her.

She began to unbutton his coat with one hand. The top two had been open since dinner. That left ten tantalizing portals to ecstasy. Then his sleeves. Then his shirt. Then his cuffs. Then his trousers. She liked to save the best for last.

Her hands slid slowly down his chest, revealing a broader glimpse of white shirt with every flick of her fingers. Snogging kept his wicked tongue occupied while she got her button fix. She counted each one in her head. One . . . two . . . three . . . four . . . five. Her hand slipped inside for a pec grope. Nice. His heart was hammering. He must have fancied fuck coat fun time as much as she did.

Six . . . seven . . . eight . . . nine . . . ten. She pushed open his coat and ran her hands over his starched shirt. Each mother of pearl button glinted back at her like a row of rainbows. She held off on their opening. First she had to free his arms.

Grabbing one hand, she sat back to look at his sleeve. Starting at his wrist, she began to unfasten the first dark row. One . . . two . . . three . . . four . . . five . . . six . . . seven . . . eight. Eight is great for pussy's sake.

Other arm. He growled as she began again, and he rocked his hips so hard she was lifted in the air on his thrust. Hermione squealed and grinned at him. No way was she going to let a little anxious dick dancing derail her de-frocking. If he was so keen on patience, he could just wait.

The other arm was freed in mouthwatering increments, and Hermione reverently undid his cuffs while she had his hands where she could see them.

When she rested her palms on his chest, he groaned and grabbed her hips, grinding into her from below. He was rock hard; she could feel him almost bursting through the puckered wool of his fly. Knowing what was in store had her pussy gushing buckets of slippery secretions.

She leaned down and nuzzled his hooked nose, and his lips brushed hers like a breeze. She returned the affectionate nibble as she started on his shirt. She couldn't help fondling his bare chest as she exposed each new inch. His nipples got a few tweaks, and she petted his sporadic chest hair to calm his growing agitation.

That didn't really work. By the time she yanked his shirt tales out of his trousers, he was huffing and growling like a bear in heat. She latched onto his neck as she eased open his belt. He tasted of salty skin and sexual heat. Leaving several red love bites along his jugular, she made sure he had abundant proof their coupling—mementos of her desire. He always wanted more. He'd be fingering them the next day during class, checking on them when he had a minute to himself. Lunch was sure to involve a quickie in the storeroom to repay the favor.

Hermione undid the top button on his fly then took a small detour to map the contours of his bulge. He grunted impatiently and bucked into her hand. Mr. Patience was in a hurry. The next button took some work. His erection fought her attempts at liberation in its rush to be set free.

As soon as she got the last two buttons undone, she sat up and stared down at his crotch. She half expected to see beams of radiant light shooting out of his open fly like the second coming. Instead, she saw his stiff manhood springing from the parted material, tenting his boxers to fill the space she'd created. She gripped him through the worn black cotton and squeezed his wand in greeting.

Severus growled and suddenly sat up, grabbing her by the shoulders and pushing her back against the rolled arm. He ripped off his coat and shirt and left them in a heap on the floor. Hermione smiled and spread her legs as he shifted to his knees. He looked deranged—his hair scattered and his breathing sharp. He kicked off his trousers and quickly jerked her hips lower so she slid across the seat.

Oh good—he was going to give her a proper cock walloping. Button lust worked both ways.

Wrapping his hand around his meaty shaft, Severus pumped his dick a few times as he positioned himself at her pussy. Hermione's breathing matched his, eager excitement speeding her respiration to a quick jog. The velvet warmth of his glans slid through her folds, spreading her lubricious lubrication over his thick sex. She bit her lip. Was that her whimpering so loudly?

Of course it was. It always was.

His fluted head nudged her silken entrance, and he eased inside her. The initial ingress always stole her breath. It was heavenly—too exquisite for words. He stopped halfway and pulled back out only to plunge back in seconds later, causing her sex to emit a crass slurp. He heard it too. His leer of pleasure made her blush and laugh.

He did it again. His shining dick bobbed in the open air for a moment then dove right back into her depths, pushing in as far as he could. She gasped and clamped her hands on his shoulders. She wanted him to stay right there and just circle her cervix until she came.

He did stay, but only for a minute.

As soon as she loosened up, he started thrusting. His girth dragged against her slick walls, the veins and ridges teaming up with his shifting foreskin to tease her engorged opening. Hovering above her, he kissed her overheated forehead as he slid in and out of her like a well oiled machine.

His stroke was masterful. She was moaning his name in minutes, begging for release. Begging for more. Begging for him to fuck the hell out of her. He murmured some noncommittal noises in return but continued pulverizing her pussy at a predetermined pace.

Her vagina didn't give a flying fairy what pace he set; it went off like a rocket as soon as he gave her nub a felicitous finger. She arched and shouted as the pleasure tore through her. It hit her hard, the contractions possessing her entire pelvis. She fractured and regrouped with each blissful bloom.

He went on fucking her as if nothing had happened. Only a small wicked smile told of his triumph. He knew there was more in store.

It wasn't until he began to sweat that he gave her the pounding she'd been pleading for. His grunting grew in volume, warming her ear with each exhalation, and she clawed at his arms in response, scratching him to commemorate the occasion. The jagged, red marks would be left to heal so he could revel in her passion for him over the coming weeks.

His hips snapped against her hard and fast. Their speed and ferocity intensified with each of her desperate whimpers. She hissed his name. Her pussy was going mad. Just watching the tense concentration play over his face had her creaming his cock. The stark ballet of his muscles dancing beneath his skin made her ravenous for his flavor. She could tell by his fierce focus that he wouldn't be coming in her mouth. But she could lick his body once they'd finished; he'd taste of love and fucking, a combination that always left her drooling.

He dropped his head and closed his eyes, planting his hands on the arm of the sofa for leverage. Hermione moaned as the pleasure coursing through her body swelled to a pinnacle of sensation. The sloppy wet sound of her sex squelching around his length might have been mistaken for raging rapids by any unsuspecting eavesdropper. Severus cracked open his eyes to smirk at her. She would have laughed if she'd been capable of anything other than mindless moaning. She could see the sarcastic jibes already forming in his head. The next day would be littered with comments about rising sea levels and the smell of dampness pervading the dungeons.

She'd just pat his crotch and tell him to plug the dam if he was so worried about water damage.

Hermione lightly scratched her nails down his chest then caught his brown nipple between her fingers just as he'd done to her earlier. His body quaked with arousal, and he fucked her even harder. The clawed feet of the sofa scraped across the floor, unable to withstand the pummeling.

Severus re-braced his foot on the floor and continued the pelvic assault. The sofa protested, dully traveling a half inch with each thrust. Hermione grabbed hold of the sofa back with one hand and his shoulder with the other. It was safest to reinforce her position in the midst of a seismic event of such magnitude. The fucking brigade was out in full force, hard at work. A sheen of effort misted his forehead, and it sparkled in the firelight. Hermione stared into his black eyes, hypnotized by the shimmery glint reflected in their depths.

The sofa knocked into the end table, which rattled loudly in wooden shock. Obviously offended by the continued onslaught, it tiptoed away and crouched behind the armchair, where Hermione would find it in the morning and have to coax it back into place with a bribe of furniture polish. Severus, caring little for the prudishness of his furniture, went on banging the hell out of her without so much as flinching.

Hermione's face pinched in pained pleasure. After years of conditioning, her pussy responded to his every tick and twitch with exaggerated enthusiasm. Just one look from him left her knickers dripping. Her entire body associated Severus with sex. Brain, eyes, tongue, lips, teeth, neck, voice, chest, heart, arms, hands, belly, cock, bollocks, arse, thighs, calves, and feet—every inch of him was synonymous with orgasm. Even the smell of him got her in the mood. Maybe that was why he continued to barricade himself in buttons—so they could get some work done. But his plan had gone awry. She had simply added his clothing to her list of arousal triggers. If he wasn't so adept at bring her to climax after climax, maybe her body wouldn't go into heat every time she thought of him. Her insatiable sex drive was his own fault.

He always took the blame with aplomb and a smile.

Screaming his name one last time, Hermione came, her back arching, and her nails sinking into the sofa's slick upholstery.

One long growl melted from his lips as her muscles clenched around him. His hips became erratic. Her name punctuated the end of his come-grunt like an emphatic exclamation mark. She loved the transcendence that flooded his face with every orgasm. She would replay his climax over and over during classes the next day, which would, in turn, leave her desperate for another go. The circle of sex.

Severus stared at her, panting in exhaustion. Hermione lifted her arms and pulled him down. He slumped in her embrace and buried his face in her hair. His heart thumped wildly against her breast.

He'd be ready to sleep soon. He might not even make it through her tongue bath. That was okay. They'd take a shower together in the morning before breakfast. And then she'd go clit fishing while she watched him get dressed. Buttons going on were almost as good as buttons coming off. She might even have to help him with his sleeves.

And his fly. No way was he going to be able to get the barn door closed on that beast singlehandedly. Not after she was through with him.

Hermione kissed his neck and smiled. Maybe she'd have to drop by during fourth period and have a conference with him in the storeroom. Replay some highlights.

Yes, definitely. Screw her tea break. Button breaks were what kept her humming.


End file.
